SLUT WIFE STORIES

SLUT WIFE STORIES - SERVING A SLUT WIFE STORY

I am caught in a trap partially of my own making: caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, as it were, ensnared by my need to serve and submit totally to a woman and torn between that desire and the horrible, sickening realization that my wife is sleeping with another man..and I am helpless to stop it.

My mind is awash in conflicting thoughts and emotions. Arousal at the thought of being so utterly dominated, that weak-kneed feeling of being owned for real, playing no longer. The natural feelings of jealousy and hurt, the sheer envy of the man that he can be a man for her when to me it is no longer even an option.

It wasn't always thus. For years my wife Sandra and I had played with BDSM, but play is all it had seemed to be. We'd 'pretend' to be Mistress and slave about once a month, usually ending the scene with normal, vanilla lovemaking. And although it was fun and enjoyable--I wanted more.

Be careful what you wish for, because you just may get it.

I suppose I had set myself up for what was to come, that one Friday afternoon. Sandra hadn't even been gone five minutes on her shopping trip before I was into the clothing, the makeup, the magazines. My..needs are like a hunger in me, that I've had since earliest childhood. And once a month, pretending to be a slave, feeling like I'm topping from the bottom, was nowhere near enough.

The black satin bikini panties and matching bra felt heavenly on my skin, like a soft caress, but it also felt wrong, alien on my hairy and masculine body. Even when I am fully dressed and made up I know in my mind that I'm not exactly Pamela Anderson. I'm a tall, 6'4" built man, in my forties, with a beer gut and body hair in all sorts of interesting places. But that doesn't matter to the fantasy, does it? In my fantasies I'm not big and awkward, hairy and laughable in women's clothing, I become as if by magic a graceful, willowy, androgynous man, all sleek and smooth and pretty.

I was lost in that fantasy, touching myself through the panties, lipstick on my lips, domination magazine close at hand when a calm and soft voice started me from my daydream.

"Once a month isn't good enough for you, is it? You want this to be real." Sandra said, walking into the room and putting the shopping bags aside.

I must have been a sight, eyes bulging, cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. I hadn't expected her home for hours. She smiled at my surprise.

"I..I can explain!" I stammered.

"No need, mon cheri, I've been kind of suspecting this for a while. And planned accordingly. I meant to surprise you today.

"You want this to be real, don't you? To stop playing a game and to truly be my slave Admit it." She ordered.

I could only stare at her feet and mumble out the side of my mouth. "Yes.."

"Yes what?"

"Yes Mistress. I want to be your slave."

"And you'll do everything I ask of you from now on? Without complaint or hesitation?"

The room felt electric. A line was being drawn here, a clear dividing line in our relationship. Beyond that line was the dark of the unknown. I felt a shiver of both fear and excitement go up and down my spine. Things would never be the same again.

I sank down to my knees at her feet. "Yes Mistress..I will obey you utterly."

She ran a hand through my hair, stroking it tenderly. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

Things changed. No longer did we divide chores equally: I was now expected to serve as a maid and wait on her hand and foot. Which gave her cause to use the riding crop on me on many occasions, as my cooking and cleaning skills were very lacking in the beginning. I was kept smooth all over, shaving and waxing, fighting the body hair war nearly every day to its usual stalemate. My male undergarments were given away to Goodwill, all but one pair kept under lock and key for any doctor's visits I might have.

Sex had changed. I was forbidden the use of my cock, for the most part, having to serve my Mistress as if I were female, with my mouth, my hands, with toys. Things had totally reversed-now it was vanilla sex that was the once a month treat, allowed that glorious privilege of making love to her. And as soon as we were both sated I'd have to go back on my knees again.

Whenever we were alone and at home I was kept collared and leashed, nude or in female clothing. My wardrobe expanded almost every week, it seemed. Mistress took great delight in making her new 'slavegirl' look as pretty as possible, and made me model outfits like it was a fashion show. I wasn't Sam any more at home-I was Cindi, and as weeks grew into months it seemed like I would stay that way. I'd dress normally, on the outside at any rate, in the mornings to go to work and immediately upon coming home turn back into Sandra's slavegirl.

It wasn't like the fiction I had read at all. In the stories in the magazines and on the Net I'd read about cruel and hateful wives and Mistresses, who rule their men with contempt and almost a hatred between the lines. Arousing, yes, but mean-spirited. If anything like some of those stories happened in real life, the couples involved were on a one-way ticket to be Jerry Springer guests. Not so with Sandra. Yes, she trained me. Yes, she punished me, sometimes whipping or spanking me until I cried. Yes, she could be cruel if it suited her. But I was never allowed one moment to think that I was unloved or unwanted as a husband and slave, and I think it was that gentleness that enslaved me the most. I'd find myself wanting to do anything, endure any punishment, suffer whatever she wished just so I could see her smile and know she was proud of her slave.

All of this came under one proviso: that if I ever used my safeword, it was over. We would go back to being normal husband and wife and I would know that I had failed her as a slave for all time. I would have to face the fact that I couldn't follow through on the fantasies in reality.

But until one, fateful night, that had never been put to the test.

I was kneeling at her feet in my pink maid's uniform as she was sitting on a stool before the vanity mirror, making herself up. She was dressed to kill, in a black, short, tight mini-skirt, a red, silk low-cut top and black stockings. She finished applying makeup, smiled down at me, and liberally sprayed her neck and arms with my favorite perfume. Then, lifting her skirt, she applied it to her thighs and crotch.

She got up and sat on the bed. "Here, be useful, you can take the curlers out of my hair." As I was removing them she crossed her legs slowly. I could hear the sound of stocking against stocking. She knew the sound of nylon against nylon, the smell of the perfume, and the sight of her gorgeous legs would drive me crazy. My hands trembled.

After the curlers were removed, I was allowed to brush her long dark hair. As I brushed, she spoke to me, softly, gently.

"Do you know what I'm doing tonight, Cindi?"

"N..no, Mistress.."

"I'm going out to be with a real man."

I can't describe the feeling that ran through me. The bottom of my world had dropped to the floor with my stomach. I felt hurt. I felt angry. And I felt deeply excited. The ultimate humiliation to have my wife fucking and sucking another man.

Pain must have been the dominant emotion however, because she took my chin and forced me to look at her. "Don't look like that. You must have known that this would have to happen eventually. I have needs, too. And as much as I've loved having little Cindi service me..its not the same as being fucked by a man, and you know it."

I gulped. "I could..make love to you more often, if you allow me to.." I began.

"What, and lose my little lezzie lover? No, I much prefer you this way. Soft and sexy, meek and obeident, wrapped around my little finger. Every time you use that cock of yours I lose about a week's worth of training in you. So no, once a month is our limit to be 'normal'."

She looked into my eyes. "Sam..this doesn't mean I don't love you, I do. That hasn't changed in all the time we've been together. No one else will ever take your place in my heart, and you've got to believe that, and trust me, or you can take that collar and that uniform off right now and forget about Cindi entirely. We might go kinky once a month again after that, but I doubt it. I've gotten quite used to having you as my slave, and it's either all the way, or no way. So which is it?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I felt so confused...torn between my desires and my heart. And I couldn't believe my own mouth as a timid, quiet voice spoke. "I want to stay as your slave, Mistress!"

She hugged me close and dried my tears, soothing me. "There there, that's a good girl. I knew you would. This isn't going to be as bad as you fear. I love you. Just trust me, you hear me? Trust me. This is the first real test of your submission to me, and I want you to pass it with flying colors. You have to get it into your head that you are a possession now. My possession. Something to be used as I see fit on my terms. This isn't a game anymore."

I heard her, but everything felt like it was happening to someone else. This couldn't be real, this couldn't be happening. "Yes Mistress."

After she was gone, I tried to bury my feelings carrying out the orders she left me. I cleaned the house spotless, practically attacking the kitchen floor with a mop in my frustrations. I tried making myself believe that this was all a trick-that she wasn't out with someone else, that she was out somewhere, alone, chuckling quietly at pulling one over on me. She really wouldn't break our vows, would she?

As it got later and later that lie I told to myself seemed less and less convincing. Some of the orders I was given didn't help either. 'Clean two of our best wineglasses and have them ready on the table with a chilled bottle of wine.' 'Set candles about the bedroom, living room, and around the tub in the bathroom.' 'Set up the spare bedroom for you to sleep tonight.'

At midnight she called. From the background noise, it sounded like she was in some kind of bar or nightclub. "Light the candles, freshen up your makeup, and put on a fresh uniform if you're all dirty from cleaning. We're coming home and you better answer the door, Cindi."

My heart was in my throat. "I can't! Not like this!"

She hung up.

The next half hour was hell on my nerves. I obeyed her instructions to the letter and knelt by the door in the dark, shaking like a leaf.

I heard the car pull in the drive. No, two cars. Oh my God.

I wanted to run and hide, to bolt like a rabbit, my heart pounding and heavy. But I rose, slowly and painfully in my heels, cheeks blushing red and waiting the inevitable.

The doorbell rang, and, more frightened than I had ever been in my entire life, I opened it.

There was my wife, my Mistress, smiling, in the arms of another man. He was shorter than I was, slender and handsome, definitely younger. It was a bizarre twist of life-he could've made a more convincing woman than I ever could!

Sandra smiled wickedly. "Steve, this is Cindi, my maid, slave, and property who I've told you so much about. Cindi, this is Steve--but you will call him Master."

My jaw could have hit the floor. It was all I could do to curtsey, but with that one curtsey everything changed in my life forever. I had submitted totally, and accepted it, even if it would be some time before I could come to terms with it. Sandra's triumphant smile told me that she knew it too, that the line had been crossed and that now I truly was her slave and plaything. I was her possession.

Things could have gotten ugly right then and there if the guy had been an asshole, or like one of those macho types in forced fem fiction that slap the other guy around with contempt and amusement. To tell the truth, that's what I had expected and feared. I cringed when he reached out to me, expecting a slap on the face and derision.

But all he did was stroke my cheek, very gently, and whisper "Such a pretty girl..I'm glad to meet you, Cindi."

That kindness melted me. I knew I looked ridiculous, there in my pink maid's uniform, cowering before my wife in the arms of another man. But he didn't laugh or look at me with scorn, only a warm amusement.

Sandra laughed softly. "I think she likes you Steve, she responded to your touch like a real slut. I think you're going to be bring out her true colors, sure enough."

She shut the door behind them and addressed me. "Fetch the drinks and serve us in the living room, slavegirl."

I obeyed without even thinking about it, and soon found myself kneeling at their feet while they sipped wine and nuzzled. As she slipped a hand down Steve's pants she spoke to me.

"I'm afraid I lied to you a little earlier, Cindi... I gave you the impression that I was going out to pick up a stranger. But that couldn't have been father from the truth. I've been getting to know Steve for some time now."

I must have winced, or shown some sign of pain at that. So she's been unfaithful to me all along?

She could read my mind. "Oh, don't start. It wasn't like that-we haven't touched each other until now. I met Steve over the Net, on one of those web sites you look at when you think I'm not paying attention. Something-trap or other, its been a while. Anyway, I needed to see that you would submit and go along with it first, so give me some credit, eh? And now that you've surrendered to me, and you two seem to get along so well, that the time has come to...make things more interesting.

"Take his shoes off, then undress him from the waist down. Now."

My hands shook, the duality of my nature screaming at me from both sides. One side was that this was natural, as a slave, I was technically sexless in orientation, and should be able to serve both men and women equally. The other side was that everything in my upbringing and culture had ingrained inside me, that this was wrong, this was alien, this was sinful.

Sinful or not the warm thrill of submission as I began undressing him, forced to be this intimate with another male was beyond belief. The trembling soon eased and I found myself on my knees, facing his cock, my wife's hand stroking and toying with it.

She smiled down at me. "Ask Steve if you can suck his cock."

I had a feeling this was coming but it was still a bit of a shock. With that sense of unreality creeping over me I asked in a soft and unconvincing voice. "May I...suck your cock?"

Her look of disapproval was as good as a slap. "I don't think you were polite enough, and I don't think you meant it. Mark my words, slut, before this night is through, you WILL mean it. I want you to beg for it. I want you to beg so much that I see tears."

Steve ran a hand absently through my hair. "Better, but I'm still not convinced. Stand over there and watch us. Play with yourself, but you better NOT come, got it?"

One look at Sandra told me that I had better obey this man's orders as if they had come straight from her. A new wave of embarrassment, submission and humiliation flooded me as I got up and stood in the corner, obeying him. I began to touch and carress my little traitor, who was erect through my panties and telling all the world that I was turned on by being made a cuckold.

Sandra bent over and began kissing and licking his cock, eyes locked on me...oh god those eyes. Beautiful and dark, flashing with arousal at her triumph and my obedience, I could refuse those eyes nothing.

Steve lifted her skirt and was kissing her crotch through her silk black teddy. It was only seconds before it was unsnapped and her pantyhose was down. They moved around into a sixty-nine position and went at it, pleasuring each other while I watched helplessly. It seemed to last forever.

A little voice kept going over and over in my head: "This isn't happening, Sam, this is happening to someone else." But the voice's words of reassurance were hollow compared to the sight before me, and its accompanying soundtrack of moaning and groaning.

Every once in a while Sandra would pause and make comments to me. "Having a good time playing with yourself, girl?" "Wouldn't you like a taste of this delicious cock? All girls love cock..aren't you my good girl?" "Don't you want to be my good slut and suck his cock, or take it up the ass? I know you want to..you want to please Me...and your new Master.."

The words and themes were repetitive, slamming home each time. Oh, she knew my buttons all right. She would condition me with her words, turn my every fetish into a weapon to use as she saw fit. This wasn't topping from the bottom any longer, this was true slavery. And as her words rang in my ears I found the self of me that I called Sam slipping away to nothingness, replaced by a new persona: Cindi, the slutty little slave-girl and maid, who would forever be at the feet of her Mistress and Master.

Eventually things got too hot for them, and they moved into the final act. I was ordered by my Goddess to position myself closely behind his balls as he entered her. She didn't want me to miss a thing. "Keep playing with yourself, but you better not come, bitch." I did as she commanded.

She gasped as he entered her, growing more and more vocal as they...fucked. There's no better way of putting it-it wasn't making love. Sandra and I make love: Sandra and Steve fuck. There's a difference but I'm damned if I can explain it. She howled her pleasure like an animal, showing me a side of her I had never seen as she clawed his back into red, bleeding marks. It was so unreal--I'm 6'4" and this guy barely over five feet is like the fuck of the century?

After an eternity of the agony..and ecstasy of watching this, Steve finally came as he brought her to a second climax. Bathed in sweat and catching their breath, they held each other on the couch for a while, my existence forgotten.

Once she had calmed down a while, she sat up on the couch and picked up a leash from the coffee-table. Attaching it to my collar she said in a husky voice. "Lick your Master's cum from my cunt, slut." She pulled me to my knees, my head between her legs and licking for all I was worth without hesitation.

I had done this before, plenty of times, but never like this, not another man's cum. The aroma was familiar and pungent, the taste strange and bitter. It took a long time to clean her, and she moved and squirmed beneath my mouth, my licking bringing her to her third climax of the evening. Finally she gripped my hair in a tight grip and yanked me away from her now very sensitive pussy.

"Now bitch--beg for your Master's cock."

And I did. I whined, I pleaded, I begged for it like it was the one thing that could make my life complete. I begged without shame. Somehow, within the space of a few hours, I was conditioned and broken enough that it felt right to beg for it, to be a slut. It fit the part.

She tugged the leash towards Steve, who took a hold of the end and drew me in between his legs. He pulled me towards his cock and ordered, "Suck me slut..suck me hard so I can fuck your Mistress again."

His cock was still somewhat spent, soft and limp. I knew I had to do a good job to please my Owner--both my Owners. Sandra grabbed my head and pushed it to within an inch of it. She then put her face close to mine and teased. "I know you want it--that's a girl!"

I slowly took it into my mouth, sucking lightly. It felt alien in my mouth, meaty, smelling of my wife and smeared with their juices combined. She stroked my hair and whispered words of encouragement in my ear, but I was past hearing. I closed my eyes and surrendered, body, heart and soul to my fate.